


An Angel Come to Save me

by Theforestspeaks



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Newsies - Freeform, The Refuge, jack is everyones dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-08-16 03:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20179303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theforestspeaks/pseuds/Theforestspeaks
Summary: Escaping the refuge in the middle of winter is a great idea.





	1. Running running running

Running, all you knew was running. Weeks trying to get out of the refuge, HA! Some refuge it is, where kids are bleeding, crying out for folks who are either dead or dirt poor. Your lungs burn, gasping shallow breaths in the frigid New York air. All you know is that you have to get away from that place, put as much distance between you and the handsy guards and starvation as possible. Your chest feels like its bound in iron, the cold creeping in, seeping closer to your heart. The ratty dress that's been worn, but not washed, for weeks doing little to protect you.  
Feet fly out from under you. Ice, torn up shoes. The perfect face-planting combo. This used to be a favorite dress, found in the trash can behind a dress shop in the bronx. A pretty summer dress, now made useless against the frigid wind. Wind. You have to get out of it. The ice and slushy snow bites your arms as you drag yourself into a narrow alley. Shivering like a mad woman, you allow yourself to take a few deep breaths and let out a sob. You pull yourself further into the alley, knocking something over in the process. You let out a startled noise at the resounding crash. One hand races up to cover your mouth, the other clutched to your chest. Loud noises meant pain.  
“No, I swear I heard someone!” A voice too near you says  
“It's probably just the wind, get back inside Crutchie. You're gonna slip on the Ice and if you get hurt Jack’ll tear me a new one.”  
You're terrified, you don't know who these boys are, they could take you back to the refuge or worse, there's no one around to hear if they make you scream. But if you stay out here you’ll freeze to death, no question about it. Would you really rather die than go back to that place? You've escaped once before you can do it again. Survival instincts, outweigh your fear. “Please help!” you say quietly. No no, you have to be louder than that, but weeks, months, of keeping your voice quiet makes it hard to raise it. “Please help me!” good, it was louder. Maybe Crutchie and that other boy heard you this time.  
“Is someone in there?” a voice resounds through the alley  
“Yes! Yes I'm here please help me!” the cold is getting worse and worse. You're drained from running, from terror. Shoes scuffle over to you, a tall boy crouches down. He sees your glazed eyes and blue lips, nose bright red.  
“Holy shit, Crutchie, go tell jack to get a bed set up, hurry she's like ice”  
You think if this is the last person you see you'll be okay with that. He's got nice eyes, warm eyes. HIs arms pick you up, lighter from months of malnutrition. HIs arms are warm like his eyes, and you decide to maybe, just close your eyes and drift off. Maybe he’s an angel.  
“Hey hey hey hey no! Stay awake ice girl, we’se gonna get you’se warm, stay up. Keep your eyes open, look at me.”  
He sounds worried, why is he so worried? You want to be mad at whoever made this angel unhappy, but you’re so tired. You’ll get back to that in the morning. 

***

You wake up sweating. Blankets piled up on top of you and your arms restricted by the amount of shirts, sweaters, and jackets you have on. Not to mention the fact that you're lying as close to a fire as is safe. You sit upright, looking around at a group of expectant boys.  
“Hey! Someone go tell Albert that the Lady’s awake!” a tall, older, brown-haired boy orders and you hear shuffling as the boys obey. “Hey, its okay, we’s ain't gonna hurt ya. Promise.”  
He must have seen the fear in your eyes.  
“Where's the Angel?”  
Confusion paints his features. “Angel? We don’t go no angels in here. Did you hit ya head?”  
“No, sorry I just thought there was an Angel.”  
He shrugs his shoulders “Its okay, the cold does stuff to people. We’se seen it before with them refuge boys.”  
You flinch at the mention of that place.  
“That where you from? The refuge? That's why we found you’se freezin in a alley?”  
Nodding your head you retell your story. Getting picked up on the streets tossed in there. The guards, the beatings, needed to escape. The endless running, running, running. By the end of your story tears are rolling down your cheeks and you're shaking.  
The brown-haired boy puts a steadying hand on your shoulder. “You don't have to run anymore, we’ve got ya.”  
“Who are you?”  
“We is the newsies of Manhattan,” a cheer rises up from the boys “and I is Jack ‘Cowboy’ Kelly, leader in chief. There's Crutchie,” gesturing to the boy sitting on the couch with a kind smile and a black eye “He found ya. That over there is Racetrack, my number two.” He points to the boy walking down the stairs with someone. “And Albert,” the boy behind racetrack “he's the one who carried you in here.”  
“The angel…” a whisper carried out on a barely-there breath.  
“What was that?” Jack asked.  
“Nothing! Sorry, you said you were Newsies, I shouldn't be here Newsies are boys only if I get seen here I go back to the refuge and I can't go back there.” You move out from under the blankets.  
“Woah there, you ain't going nowhere.”  
“But Jack..”  
“No buts!” He interrupts, “Youse really think we is gonna let you back out there? You’ll die. And besides, you think that there really are only boy newsies? The Boss’ don't keep close tabs on us, it’s almost too easy to sneak in girls.”  
Bewilderment crosses your face, you never thought about girls hiding in plain sight among NewsBoys.  
“Look, I know youse ‘as had a long day, so let's give some of these boys their blankets back and get you set up in a bed. Okay?”  
“Okay.”  
“Racer, help… eh, what's your name?”  
“(y/n)”  
“(y/n) to a bed, and keep Romeo away from ‘er”

***  
“Hey Specs, Racer, Henery, Albert, Elmer, Freeze! Let's get a move on them papes don't sell themselves.”  
“Hey, Albert, Freeze, Elmer, SPECS! You ‘eard jack. Let's get a move on.” Racer Parroted jack.  
You loved the boys, but no matter how many months you've been here, you’ll never love their wake up calls. They took you in, hid you, gave you a job and a newise name, Freeze. For obvious reasons.  
“Hey! That's my cigar!”  
“You’ll steal another!”  
And the morning antics have started. Let's hope race doesn't kill your selling partner before the day starts. OH yes, another change, Albert was assigned as your selling partner. Your angel, but of course he doesn't know that you feel that way about him.


	2. Here We go again

“TROLLEY STRIKE? AGAIN?!”  
“That’s it, I’m gonna starve.”  
“Ah quit your whining boys, line up and lie.” Jack orders, getting into line to buy his usual papers from the lovely Weasel.   
You follow Romeo to the line, fishing around in your pocket for 50 cents. You feel a tap on your shoulder and see a scared Albert.  
“Hey freeze I’m short 5 cents,” his eyes showing fear hidden behind the clam way he’s speaking. While 5 cents might not seem like a big deal to the middle class, 5 cents in newsies world means the difference between selling enough papers to eat or starving in the streets. “You think you could lend me any? I swear I’ll pay you back!”  
“Oh, of course, I’ll just buy em and give them to you.”   
Relief floods his features. “Thanks, Doll, you’re a lifesaver.” The irony lies in how true that stamens really is.  
“NEXT!!”   
You step up to Weasle and slap 55 cents down on the table, “hundred and ten papers please.” Slightly lowering your voice to keep up the charade of being a boy.  
“Oh, we’ve got a big spender over here, what makes you think you can sell that much boy?”  
“My rugged good looks and charm?”   
“Go get your papes from Morris.” He scowled, pushing you down the line to get your papers.   
A bundle of papes hit you square in the chest and a sly look from Morris tells you all you need to know.   
You take 10 papers from your bag and hand them to Albert.  
“Ready to sell partner?”  
The ginger gives you a thankful smile that makes your heart melt, “Ready as I’ll ever be!” He tales of sprinting. “Last one to the selling spots the sick one for the day!”  
•••

“Papers! Papers! Please, sir, my little brother’s sick and I can’t afford medicine? Buy a paper?” Albert begs.  
You fake a harsh cough and thank god that you look younger than you are, passing for an 11-year-old boy instead of the 16-year-old you are.   
“Oh dear, give them a dime, the poor thing.” The man’s handsomely dressed companion says, sympathy clouding her eyes. The man grumbles but never the less tosses a dime at Albert in exchange for a paper.   
Albert stumbles over himself shaking the man’s hand and stuttering Thank yous while you give the sugar sweetest smile you can muster, coughing again for good measure.   
You don’t like lying, but if it means getting money, you’re willing to play to people's sympathies a little.   
“Okay freeze, how many more papes you got?”  
“15, we should come back during the lunch rush.”  
“Yeah, you think we’ve got enough for some bread?”  
“Well Ablie, you give the girl at the counter that smile ‘a yours and we might just get ourselves a fresh loaf.”  
He smiles that million-dollar smile and the two of you head off, a friendly distance between you.   
You want to walk down the street hand in hand with him, or with his arm around your shoulders, but not only does he not return your feelings, the whole world believes you to be a boy. And I’m 1899, the world ain’t so friendly to boys being close. Of course, boys are always hanging off each other at the lodging house, getting the physical contact they’re denied from each other, but that’s a different world. A world where Freeze, Bulls, and puddle, tough Manhattan boys, turn back into (Y/N), Dot, and Lacey, tough Manhattan girls. If only you could just be (Y/N) outside of the lodging house, but with the laws in place that’ll never happen.   
You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the bells attached to the bakery door, Albert having opened the door for you. You smell the fresh scent of baking dough and the sweet scent of frosting, something you could only imagine.   
“Bertie! Your back!” A lovely blonde at the counter greets.   
Albert hates when people call him Bert, it’s always a variation of Al. But he lets Lilith the bakery girl call him anything. She’s sweet on him, he’s sweet on the stale but free bread she gives him. As much as you know how little patience he has for her and her nicknames, being on the receiving end of many of his rants, you still feel a little tinge of jealousy. She gets to bathe every day and has the healthy, full figure of someone who eats when they're hungry.   
“‘Aftanoon Lil,”   
She simpers, eating up the simple nickname and the amped-up accent he gives her.   
“Me and Freeze ‘ere would like a loaf please, the olda’ and cheapa’ the betta’”   
You roll your eyes, she’s puffing her chest out and batting her long eyelashes obviously hoping he’ll stay around and chat, even though there’s a growing line.   
“Oh, I’ll get you a fresh loaf at a stale price,”  
“You don’t gotta do that sugar.”  
“I know, but I want to.”  
Alberta leaning on the counter now, playing up all his charm, “well thank you, you’re a peach.” He says making his voice sound like butter and gifting her a sappy smile.  
She runs into the back and you and Albert round up 5 cents.   
“Here you are! One stale,” she winks “loaf of French bread.”  
Albert hands you the bread and her money, gives her a promise of seeing her and a wink and the two of you walk out.   
Jealousy’s a bitch and it keeps you from responding to Alberts jokes and stories with too much enthusiasm. If he notices something’s wrong he doesn’t say anything.  
You each tear off a piece of bread and you hide the rest in your pape bag.   
Back to selling and sneaking glances at Albert whenever you can.   
•••

You wish you could go back to that day and stop being jealous, or just go back and enjoy the time you had. It was better than ending up back here.   
The strike was brought up so fast and everything was a blur. Convincing the scabs to strike, walking to The Bronx and Back, failing to get Smalls on your side. Standing your ground against Wiesel and the Delancey.   
Romeo shouting for help from the coppers only to get knocked down.  
Seeing him trying to get up, and falling back down. To dizzy or hurt to stand.   
You see your boys getting soaked left and right. Puddle and Bulls ran the second the cops showed up. Makes sense, if their hats get knocked off their done for. So are you. You should have ran too. But you stayed. And look where it got you.  
You barely registered getting knocked over. But a swift kick to the guts roused you and you had scrambled up looking for your assailant. Morris Delancey. Of course. You had braced yourself for a punch, but he was just standing there, mouth open, eyes like saucers. There’s only one thing that could have gotten that reaction. Your hand flew up to your head. Your hat had fallen off.   
Bye-bye secret Identity.  
“OSCAR WE’S GOT A GIRL OVA’ HERE!!” Morris had lunged at you, grabbed you and not letting go disputed how much you struggled.   
“Holy shit freeze is a girl?”   
“Yeah now shuddup and help me get this bitch ova’ to Snyder. I bet the refugee boys will love you.” He had said right in your ear.   
It disgusted you. You started to kick and screamed for help and only Crutchie, tough, sweet, Crutchie had heard you. He could soak a Delancy, but two Delancys plus the bulls? He hadn't stood a chance. You knew that. He knew that, but he still hobbled his way towards you.   
“(Y/N)!!!” He shouted, getting closer. But Snyder was closer.  
He’d snatched Crutchie’s crutch and started beating him with it. Tears poured out of your eyes and you called for help.   
“Someone help! Crutchie! Someone help him, please!” You saw Albert, your Angel, standing over Romeo’s limp figure fending off a bull. “ALBERT!!! ALBIE HELP!” You called to him and he had heard you. He called out to you, you saw pure terror full his face when he saw your hat was gone.   
“(Y/N)!!!!!” He called out to you, distracted enough to get socked across the face and go down hard on top of Romeo.  
“ALBERT!”   
Tears clouded your vision. You had heard Crutchie calling out for Jack and Race. But you went limp and sobbed when you saw Albert go down. The cop just kept kicking him and kicking him. His ribs his face, his stomach.   
Then you and Crutchie were dragged away. Thrown into the back of a car.  
Thrown on top of a bunk.   
Thrown to where you are now. Reliving the horrible memories of the fight and of your time here before.   
Your worst fear had come true.   
You were back at the refuge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter soon

**Author's Note:**

> there will be a part 2


End file.
